A Love For Leah

Chapter Three

Thomas pushed open the sliding wooden doors to his grandfather’s forge to catch some of the midmorning breeze. It was stifling inside, and he’d started to beat the last of the wrought-iron hinges into shape. Returning to his task, he used long-handled tongs to lift a smoking hinge into the sunlight to get a good look at it before plunging it back into the glowing coals.

His grandfather watched, faded blue eyes narrowed with concentration. “Goot,” he said. “A little more. Feel the shape in your mind, Thomas. Strike hard and true.”

Thomas swung the hammer again and again. The shock resonated through his body, but he paid it no mind. He was used to it. He didn’t mind hard work. It was this work he disliked.

Patience, he told himself.

Again and again he struck hammer to iron. Slowly the iron yielded to the shape he wanted. He knew it was good and he should have been pleased, but he took little pleasure in the forge. He much preferred digging in the soil or building with wood and brick. He’d been born to a family with a tradition of blacksmithing going back to the old country, but he had no heart for it. Never had.

“Ya.” Obadiah nodded. “Ya. That is the way. Was that so hard?”

Thomas placed the finished piece beside the others to cool and turned toward his grandfather. The gray-haired man held out a small bucket. Thomas took it, drank and then dumped the remainder of the cool well water over his head. It ran down his neck and shirt to wet his leather apron and forge trousers, but he didn’t care. The pants and shirt would dry soon enough and both trousers and apron were scorched and riddled with holes.

His grandfather chuckled. “Always with you the heat, Thomas. The heat never bothers me.”

And it never did. For sixty-five years Obadiah Stutzman had labored in a forge, and the flames and red-hot metal had only made him tougher. Past eighty now, his shoulders were still formidable and the muscles in his arms were knotted sinews. Thomas loved him as he loved his mother and father. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like without Grossdaddi watching over his shoulder, hearing the raspy voice hissing in Deitsch, “Strike harder, boy. Feel the iron.” Thomas had always wanted to please him, but spending his life within the walls of this forge, he didn’t know that he could do it.

Thomas walked to the open doorway and squatted on the hard-packed earth, letting the warm sunshine fall full on his face. He ran a hand through his damp hair and let his muscles rest from the strain of swinging the hammer.

In the distance, a calf bawled, its call quickly answered by the mother’s deeper mooing. The farmyard stretched out in front of Thomas, familiar and comforting as always. Chickens squawked and scratched, earnestly searching for worms or insects. One hen was trailed by six fluffy chicks and a single yellow-and-brown duckling. Thomas smiled at the sight, knowing that when they came to the first puddle the foundling would terrify its adopted mother by plunging in and swimming. Maybe I’m that duckling, he thought, always ready for fun, never quite fitting in or doing what I’m expected to do by my family.

His grandfather came to stand beside him. “A sight you look,” Obadiah said. “Goot thing your mother is to the house. Doesn’t see you without a hat to cover your head in God’s presence.”

Thomas glanced guiltily at the wall where his straw hat hung on a peg. He never wore it in the forge for fear of it catching fire. Grossdaddi wore an old felt dress hat with the brim cut off over his thinning gray hair, but Thomas wasn’t ready to be seen in such a thing, so he worked bareheaded.

“When do you expect Jakob to get here?” he asked. His father had told him at morning milking that the new apprentice was arriving today. He’d be staying with them in the big house.

“Anytime now. Hired a driver to bring him from the train station in Wilmington.”

“I liked Jakob when I met him. I hope he works out,” Thomas said. “Hope he likes Seven Poplars.”

“Be a change from Indiana,” his grandfather answered. “You know those folks don’t even have tops on their buggies? Winter and summer, no tops. Their bishops won’t allow it.”

“I’d heard that,” Thomas said.

“How was your social last night? Too bad Jakob couldn’t have been here in time to go along,” Obadiah said.

“It was fine. Good food.”

“Any new girls catch your eye? Your mother said she spoke to Sara yesterday about possibly making you a match.”

“Ne. No one in particular; I spent most of the evening talking to Leah Yoder.” Thomas shook his head. “Honestly, I’m having second thoughts about this matchmaker thing. Don’t see why we need to lay out the money. I’ve never had trouble finding dates.”

Obadiah turned a half-bushel basket upside down, sat on it and took out a penknife. Absently, he began to whittle at a small piece of wood he carried in his pocket. They sat in silence for a few minutes and then his grandfather said, “People say Sara knows her trade. They say give her a chance, she’ll find you a proper wife.”

“Seems foolish, though, doesn’t it? Having her find me a wife? When I could do it myself?”

“But you haven’t.” His grandfather sighed. “Thomas, what can I say? Time you grew up. Started working in the family business. Trouble is, you think you can stay free and single year after year. You like the pretty girls. I can see it. But when talk turns serious, you’re off after the next one.”

Thomas felt heat flush his face. “It’s not like that. I thought that Ellie and me would...” He trailed off, not wanting to talk about Ellie. That was still a sore subject. “I’m not certain Sara can find me a match I’d be happy with. She wanted me to meet this woman last night—Hazel something or other. One of the ones who came up from Virginia in the van. Sour as an October persimmon. Little beady eyes and a mouth screwed up so tight I thought she didn’t have front teeth until I saw her eating. I couldn’t imagine looking at that face across a breakfast table every morning.”

Obadiah chuckled. “So, not pretty enough for you?”

Thomas shook his head. “That wasn’t it. Hazel would have been attractive if she hadn’t been so ill-tempered. Not a good word to say about anyone or anything. One complaint after another. She even complained about the potato salad. Said she preferred German potato salad to Sara’s and left it on her plate.”

“One wasteful woman doesn’t ruin the batch. You’re being stubborn. Time you started walking out with a respectable girl.”

“I thought I was when I was with Ellie. And you all liked her.”

His grandfather ignored that and went on. “Bishop Atlee asked me last week if you were planning on going to baptism classes. Way past time, Thomas. I’m going to retire in a few years. Don’t know how much longer I have on this earth. I know I’ve always told you that I wanted to leave this farm to you, but you worry me. I’m starting to have second thoughts. Maybe you mean to drift away from the faith. Maybe you’re too flighty to entrust our family farm to.”

Thomas winced as if his grandfather had struck him. This was the first he’d heard of his grandfather’s hesitation about leaving him the farm. Since he was a boy, he’d expected it would be his someday. His throat clenched. “That’s up to you, Grossdaddi.”

“You should be married. You should have married five years ago. I could have great-grandsons and granddaughters to spoil. I’ve stood up for you to your mother and father, took your side when maybe I should not have.” He exhaled. “You don’t give Sara a chance to find you a wife, I have to take it into consideration that maybe you’ve lost track of what’s important in life.”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but his grandfather’s shepherd raised his head and let out a single yip, then leaped up and ran toward the house. Thomas heard the beep of a car horn and the dog began to bark in earnest. “That must be Jakob coming now,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Must be,” his grandfather agreed. “But you think on what I said. I’m worried about you, boy.” He met Thomas’s gaze. “Prove to us all that you are ready to take over this farm. Find a wife, get to churching and be quick about it.”

* * *

Sara smiled at Thomas as they shook hands across her desk. “So we’re in agreement. I’ll make you a match. Keep an open mind, and I’m sure I can find someone who will suit you and your family.”

It had been more than a week since Sara’s barn social. Thomas had spent days wrestling with the idea of asking for help in finding a wife. He’d prayed on it, and he’d considered asking the bishop to add his name to the upcoming classes in preparation for baptism in the fall. But he hadn’t been ready to take that step yet. One obstacle at a time. Maybe finding the right girl would erase the last doubts he had about a Plain life. As much as his parents wanted him to join the faith, they wanted it for the right reasons. It had to wholeheartedly be his choice, not someone else’s. The Old Order Amish lifestyle was a lifetime commitment, one you were supposed to enter with joy.

Tonight, he’d come after supper, as Sara had asked. He hoped that he wouldn’t run into Ellie or Leah. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed about using a matchmaker. It was more that a man’s personal business ought to be private. And what could be more personal than choosing a wife?

Thomas hadn’t mentioned to Sara that his grandfather was threatening to leave the farm to someone else. The possibility of losing the farm hurt, but if Thomas hadn’t thought that maybe his grandfather was right, he would never have agreed to make an official agreement with the matchmaker.

He started to rise from his chair, but Sara waved him back into his seat. They were in her office in her home, a spacious room with comfortable furniture, deep window seats and a colorful braid rug.

“Don’t go yet,” she said. “I have a fresh pot of coffee and a blueberry pie that’s just begging to be sliced.” She made a few more notations on the yellow legal-sized notepad and tucked the sheet into a manila folder.

“How long do you think it will take?” Thomas asked. He rested his straw hat on one knee and looked at her.

“Slicing the pie or finding you a wife?”

He grimaced, still not entirely convinced this whole matchmaker thing was a good idea. “Finding somebody for me.”

“Actually, I already have someone in mind.”

“Not that Hazel girl you introduced me to the other night,” he protested. “I didn’t care for her at all.”

She chuckled. “Not Hazel. Funny you should mention her, though. She and Fred Petersheim hit it off. It seems he didn’t care for my potato salad either.”

Thomas laughed. “I thought it was great.”

“I’m pleased. Now,” she said, rising, “you make yourself at ease. I won’t be a moment. How is it you like your coffee?”

“Sugar and milk. Two sugars.”

“You like it sweet.”

“Ya, I do. I could come out in the kitchen with you,” he suggested. “No need for you to—”

“No. Stay where you are, Thomas.” She walked from the room, closing the door behind her.

Thomas tapped the heel of one boot nervously. He glanced around the room. The pale blue walls were hung with cross-stitch family trees and several large calendars. One showed a farmer plowing with a six-horse team against a rural background. Another showed a mare and newborn foal, the little filly tentatively trying out her new legs in tall clover.

In one corner of the room stood a battered green filing cabinet. He wondered if there was a manila folder in one of the drawers that would hold his future. It was exciting and a little frightening to put his life in Sara’s hands. He was tempted to wander over and take a peek. He wasn’t normally a snoop, but if he just—

The door opened and Thomas turned his head to see not Sara but Leah. She was carrying a tray with slices of pie and three cups of coffee. “Oh!” he said. “You startled me.” He rose and hurried to take the tray, realizing that although he’d hoped they wouldn’t run into each other this evening, he was pleased to see her.

“Sara asked me to bring this in,” Leah explained with a smile. “She said she’ll just be a minute.” He put the tray on the desk, and she took a seat opposite him and motioned to the coffee. “Please, go ahead. It’s nice and hot.”

He noticed that she was wearing glasses. He didn’t think that she had worn them at the barn frolic. But they did nothing to hide the intelligent sparkle of her bright blue eyes. Leah should have been as plain as a barnyard dove in her worn gray dress, apron and headscarf, but red-gold tendrils of hair framed her heart-shaped face, and merry dimples gave her a mischievous appearance.

He wondered if Sara could find him someone like Leah. But maybe not so pretty, he thought. Ellie had warned him that he needed to look beyond an attractive face and neat figure.

A minute or two passed. Leah cupped her coffee mug in her hands and inhaled the steam. She didn’t speak, and Thomas realized that the silence between them wasn’t awkward. Rather, he found it peaceful. Most girls he knew liked to fill every second with chatter.

He tasted his own coffee. It was good. He would have to ask Sara what brand it was. His mother was an excellent cook, but her coffee left something to be desired. It was either too weak or something. It never tasted as good as Sara’s. This was hearty, with a brisk, bright flavor.

“I guess it was quiet in the jungle,” he remarked. “No traffic, not many people.”

Leah smiled and shook her head. “Not noisy like here in the States, but certainly not quiet. There were so many insects, buzzing, flapping, whirring. For the first month I was there, I found it hard to sleep. And the monkeys? Some kinds scream, others howl. They all chatter nonstop. And sometimes you’d hear a deep rumble, like a cough in the night. Iago said that when I heard that noise, I should stay inside the house or clinic hut because it was a leopard and I would make a fine meal for a big cat.”

Thomas gave her a sharp look. “A leopard? Did you ever see one?”

“No, but Iago said that they came to our side of the river in the rainy season. One had killed a child from the nearest village two years earlier. He wasn’t given to tall tales, so I believed him.” She rested her mug on the wooden arm of her chair. “You would think him odd if you saw him. He wasn’t as tall as me; he had a potbelly, and his hair was cut like a cap just below his ears. Even though he was a great-grandfather, his hair was still as black as soot and coarse as a horse’s mane. Iago’s tattooed face was wizened like a winter apple and his legs were bowed, but he was stronger than you can imagine. He was my dearest friend other than my Daniel, and I shall never forget him. Iago taught me so much about life. It was his wisdom and patience that made it possible for us to live and work among the St. Joes.”

“I would like to have met your Iago,” Thomas said.

“You would have liked him. He told such stories that I could listen all day.”

“He spoke English?”

Leah chuckled and shook her head. “Only a little. His granddaughter translated for me, and Iago was a fine actor. He used such expressions and hand movements that it was easy to follow.”

“Who was easy to follow?” Sara asked as she entered the room.

Thomas stood. “Leah was telling me about some of her adventures in Brazil. It seems she was nearly eaten by a leopard.”

“I didn’t say that.” Leah laughed.

Sara took her place behind her desk and helped herself to a slice of pie. “Mmm. Coffee’s still hot. Good.” She motioned to the other plates of pie. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s for eating, not looking.”

Thomas took a plate and handed it to Leah.

“I should leave you two alone,” Leah said, rising, her plate in her hand. “If you and Thomas have business.”

“We do.” Sara wiped a drop of coffee from her lip. “And so do you and I.” She glanced from one of them to the other. “What? You really haven’t guessed, have you?”

“Guessed what?” Thomas asked. He looked at Leah, who had sat down again, then back at Sara. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

“Ne,” Leah pronounced firmly, looking at him and then at Sara, too. “Not Thomas. Not for me.” Her cheeks took on a rosy glow. “It’s nothing against you, Thomas,” she hastened to explain, glancing back at him again. “But you’re not what I—” She turned her attention to Sara again. “I was very clear what I’m looking for. An older man. Settled. With children.”

Thomas shook his head, wondering what Sara could be thinking. “We’ve known each other our whole lives. You don’t think—”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Sara interrupted him, seeming perturbed. “Listen to the two of you. Who is the expert here? I’ve made more matches than you can imagine, and I think I know my business. You’re perfect for each other.” She pointed at him with her fork. “You’re badly in need of a wife, Thomas. And Leah doesn’t want to leave Seven Poplars and her family. What could be a better solution?”

“But Thomas isn’t...” Leah murmured.

“She...she doesn’t—” Thomas struggled to find the right words. If she wasn’t interested in him, he certainly wasn’t going to be interested in her.

“Look. Either you have faith in me or you don’t,” Sara said crisply. “Leah, you wanted an arranged marriage, someone of the faith that your family would approve of. And Thomas, you’ve been hopeless at finding someone on your own.” She fixed him with a determined gaze. “So here’s what I propose. Six weeks of dating. That should give you each time to consider the pros and cons of the other.”

“But I don’t want to date Thomas,” Leah insisted. “He’s the last sort of man I’d want to marry.”

Her words hurt him a little, and he felt his own ire rise. “She’s not what I’m looking for,” he blurted. “I won’t consider—”

“Oh, but you will,” Sara said rather firmly. “You will both agree to give this match a fair chance. Because if you don’t, if you won’t even open your minds to the possibility, then I’m not the matchmaker for you.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I’ll wash my hands of both of you.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.